


The Devil's Workshop

by BashfulBunny (Aequoreavictoria)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Caring John, Childhood Trauma, Complete, Corporal Punishment, Cruelty, Harm to Children, Kid Sherlock, M/M, Masturbation, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse, Patient John, Pining, Pining Sherlock, Punishment, Romance, Tender Sex, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 22:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2287001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aequoreavictoria/pseuds/BashfulBunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous prompt from the Sherlock BBC Prompting Meme: "Virgin Sherlock doesn't know if he's asexual or repressed. Sherlock and John exploring Sherlock's sexuality in a very careful and considerate way, taking the possibility of asexuality as something that would be absolutely, 100% fine. Sherlock wants to know if sex is something he can enjoy with John, but John makes sure Sherlock knows it's fine if he can't, and John won't love him any less."</p><p>"Sherlock has never wanted to have sex because Mycroft made him believe it's a disgusting weakness. Maybe when they were teenagers Mycroft used to punish Sherlock for masturbating, so that even now when Sherlock (very infrequently) masturbates it leads to intense feelings of shame. The point is that he's never wanted sex, not even with John, although he really wants to be able able to please him, and he doesn't know if it's just because he's repressed and it can be overcome, or because he's actually asexual."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you anonymous, for your beautiful and touching prompt.

“You enjoy sex, John.”

“Oh yeah, I reckon as much as the next bloke.”

Expecting a caustic comment of some sort but hearing nothing, John paused his two-fingered typing to glance casually up at Sherlock only to freeze in his chair. 

“Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s usual expression, the one John had been expecting to see, the one that conveyed, in equal measure, both mystification and barely repressed irritation at the extraordinary dullness of the masses, was nowhere to be seen. In its place was that rare, unconcealed sadness that occasionally crossed Sherlock’s face; heart stopping because it was the only pure and honest emotion that John had ever seen Sherlock display. Any other emotional display was acting; extraordinarily brilliant acting that fooled everyone − except John.

“I’m sorry Sherlock! I didn’t mean it that way. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Sherlock struggled to contain himself. Succeeding at last he said, “Don’t be ridiculous, John. It’s a perfectly sound conclusion that I am not “the next bloke”. I…I know that.”

There was a profound silence in the room.

“But…you wish…that...you…were?” It was an astonishing thing to say and John winced inwardly at the verbal flaying he risking, but something in Sherlock’s manner drove him to it.

Sherlock looked at the floor. “Sometimes. Lately.” 

Now at almost a complete loss for words but knowing this was a profoundly important moment, John said softly, “And it has to do with…sex? Tell me.”

“I …I don’t think I can, John.”

John was certain that Sherlock had no idea of the pleading plainly written on his face.

“Alright. I understand,” said John, although, of course he didn’t, not at all.

Sherlock stood. “Good night, John.”

“G’night Sherlock.” 

Sherlock left the room and John resumed his slow tapping on the laptop. But his attention was on Sherlock’s strange confession. He would get to the bottom of this, no matter how long it took to do it.


	2. Chapter 2

John’s strategy would be to wait. It was clear that Sherlock could not be pushed into revealing what was bothering him. Whatever it was was intensely personal… But it was obviously bothering him a great deal; now that John was paying attention he realized that Sherlock had been casting him wistful glances for some weeks. The issue would re-emerge and when it did John would be ready to pounce. There was no hurry. John had long since realized that expending energy on dating was pointless, and had resigned himself, not unhappily, to a life of loving his fiercely loyal but emotionally impaired friend. 

He didn’t, as it turned out, have to wait long. Several evenings later in a quiet moment…

“John?”

“Hmmmm?”

“In a relationship, I mean when…people…are dating… how important do you think sex is? Is it the…most important thing for…people, would you say?”

John, on high alert, answered casually, “I don’t really know, Sherlock. Everyone is different. I can really only speak for myself.”

There was a very long silence before Sherlock asked cautiously, “What about you then, John?”

John was prepared. “Sex has been important to me but not really as an end unto itself. I mean, it’s more like a means to an end. It’s an important way to communicate commitment…and love…to someone. That’s why it’s important to me but there are ways, other than sex, to communicate and share feelings with someone you love.”

Sherlock asked carefully, “So you are saying that you could conceivably have a fulfilling relationship…without sex, John?”

“Well, you can’t really control who you fall in love with, can you, Sherlock? And some people, for whatever reason, aren’t sexual, are they Sherlock?”

Sherlock blinked and stared. Then he hung his head, “Of course. You know, don’t you, John?”

John’s voice was soft, “No, Sherlock, but I wondered. That’s all. Just wondered. You’ve been consistently… preoccupied with my dating life, since the beginning, Sherlock. That’s not really consistent with your claims of being “married to your work” is it? You might be the best detective in the flat, but you aren’t the only one.” He smiled at Sherlock tenderly. “And this just might be one area where, of the two of us, I have the edge.”

A multitude of expressions were chasing each other across Sherlock’s face as he stared at John; amazement, embarrassment, fear, longing, love and, although John was certain Sherlock had no idea of it; to John’s astonishment, sexual desire. And wasn’t that interesting?!

John patted the sofa beside him. “C’mere Sherlock. Sit beside me. Bring your book and we’ll just sit together. It makes me happy when you’re near me.”

Sherlock asked almost shyly, “It does?” 

“Yep, sure does. ‘Cause then I know you aren’t out planning to throw yourself off a roof or some daft thing.” John winked.

Sherlock blushed awkwardly and looked away before turning back to meet John’s eyes. “You are teasing me, aren’t you John?” he asked cautiously.

John grinned and nodded and reached to ruffle Sherlock’s hair as he settled with his book beside him; then had to catch his breath when he found himself caught in the beam of Sherlock’s brilliant blue gaze.


	3. Chapter 3

Tired from a fruitless day of searching the less savoury parts of London for a potential witness, Sherlock was lying on the sofa gazing at the ceiling and John was in the kitchen making tea for them. He carried two mugs of tea to the living room. He handed one to Sherlock and settled himself in his chair with a sigh of contentment.

“I wasn’t always this way, John.”

John knew without asking. “You weren’t?” He drew on his physician’s training. Let the patient talk, encourage them…

“No. I…liked the feeling of arousal and…release…when I was…young.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. It was fine until the day Mycroft caught me in the summer house with my pants and trousers down, daydreaming…well, fantasizing I suppose. I knew I wasn’t supposed to masturbate, we’d been told it was bad, of course, but it didn’t seem so wrong at the time. I had a day dream about another boy and I, together all the time, day and night, you know, going on adventures, having fun.” He said quietly, “My favourite day dream was to imagine us swimming; a warm summer night, stars close and us lying together−being together.”

John asked softly, “How old were you, Sherlock?”

“I don’t know, about eleven, perhaps younger.” Sherlock said mockingly, “I was an early bloomer.” 

When John said nothing, Sherlock continued. “Mycroft shouted at me, frightened me, I didn’t know he was there, I hadn’t been paying attention… Then he dragged me across the lawn to our Nanny in the garden, he wouldn’t let me pull my trousers up.”

Sherlock glanced at John who allowed nothing of his feelings to show on his face. He simply asked, “What did she do, Sherlock?”

“She strapped my hands and instructed me to write on the school board one hundred times; ‘The loathsome habit of self-abuse is the root of all evil and leads to drinking and other forms of self-wastage. I will not therefore engage in this disgusting habit.’”

John was rigid with pain in his chair but knew he must not express it. So he simply said, “I see.”

Sherlock looked at the ceiling once more. “She had a range of options available to her; my parents were very keen to ensure that we shouldn’t fall victim to the “fiend of darkness”. We had spacious residence. Some families have sun-rooms or music rooms. Our family had a punishment room. It was well stocked. It had a whipping block, a kneeling stool, switches and canes…a birch whip. Nanny was very efficient and conscientious in the fulfillment of her duties. She kept careful notes recording my offences, the punishment imposed, the severity, the times and dates...”

John, even the hardened soldier that he was, was unprepared for the nausea he felt rising as he listened to Sherlock’s emotionless tones. 

“The next time Mycroft found me, I was by the stream in the wood, pretending I was a pirate and had rescued a sailor. My sailor and I were going to stay together forever; he thought I was brilliant and brave.” Sherlock stilled before saying, “Nanny felt a stronger form of discouragement was needed. She had a recipe for a compound of wintergreen, peppers and mustard seed. Have you heard of a poultice pouch, John? It is a very effective punishment. I never touched myself again.”

John reeled. “Dear God, Sherlock.”

Sherlock rolled his head to look at John across from him. In a rare moment of stark honestly, he said, “I know it was wrong of her and my parents to do that to me, John, but what’s done is done. I cannot undo it, no matter how much I may want to.”

John, trying to compose himself, studied his tea in silence for a long moment before asking, “Sherlock, are you are saying that if it is possible to do so, that you would like to change?”

“Yes, I want to change very much John, very much.”

“I see. What would you change, Sherlock? And why? Will you tell me?”

Sherlock didn’t hesitate. He sat up and faced John, leaning forward in his urgency to communicate his feelings. “I want to want you, John, all day, all night, anywhere and everywhere; I want to shiver with desire when I see you, when I'm near you. I want to crave your touch; I want to crave to touch you. I want to revel in heat, sweat, saliva and laboured breath, in writhing limbs and the sounds of sexual ecstasy with you, John. That is what I want! I want my body to love you as much as my heart does, and my mind.” 

Sherlock looked at the floor before looking up at John again with visible tears in his eyes and whispered, “I want back everything that was taken from me when I was eleven years old. I want my body back and I want my dreams back. You were the boy I loved and the sailor I rescued, John. Now that I am a man, I want to be able to share that with you again.” The tears were flowing down his face now, his mouth trembling and his voice unsteady, “I want all that they took from me back, so I can give it to you, John. That’s what hurts the most; that I have nothing left to give to you. That I am hollow didn’t really matter so much before I met you, but now it matters more than anything in the world−I hate that I have nothing to give you−you who mean more to me than my own life, John!” He lowered his head and wept. 

John was out of his chair in an instant and bending to take Sherlock in his arms. “That’s not true, Sherlock! You’ve given me so much! So many things that no one else could have! It’s you who gave me my self-respect back, a reason for living, the opportunity to contribute something good and worthwhile to the world. I had none of those things before I met you. You saw value in me and trusted me with your life. My God, Sherlock, you love me! I know that you do. Do not think for a moment that sex is more important than that. It isn’t! Not to me! I’ll never leave you, never! Not for sex, not for anything!” 

John pulled Sherlock’s chin up and looked into his eyes, willing him to see what was in his heart. Sherlock stopped crying and stared, then nodded briefly before closing his eyes and allowing John to draw him back on the sofa seat and into his arms. 

After a long silence, Sherlock asked, “In your opinion, as a doctor, John, what do you think happened to me? Am I asexual or repressed or something else?”

“I’m not sure Sherlock. You suffered extreme abuse at a vulnerable time in your sexual development. That kind of experience impacts people differently.” He squeezed Sherlock tightly in his arms before continuing, “The fact that you had a healthy and emotionally rich sexual identity developing as a child counter-indicates asexuality. And there’s no reason to think that you have a physical problem since you had no difficulty stimulating yourself to orgasm before the abuse.” 

He paused. “Possibly some of the complex linkages between brain, heart and body that make up human sexuality broke during what happened−your mind’s way of coping with the trauma inflicted on you. It would not be surprising at all if you’re suffering from some pretty crippling shame and fear around acting on sexual desire or even allowing yourself to feel sexual desire. That is what these extreme religious censures are intended to create in children and they have lasting effects. Being threatened with the devil, humiliated and subjected to what amounts to physical torture are traumatizing for anyone but especially for children. I’m not an expert in human sexuality by any means, though. There are specialists who work with people to great success on these kinds of psychological injuries...”

“I don’t want to talk to anyone else, John. Just you.”

John brought a hand up to stoke Sherlock’s hair. “Of course, you always have me, my love. Always.”


	4. Chapter 4

After his emotional spell passed, Sherlock did not draw away. He leaned against John’s shoulder and breathed against his neck, seemingly enjoying their closeness. John thought about what Sherlock had shared and wondered at the extraordinary emotional depth of the man others thought to be cold and uncaring, if not sociopathic. And that he, John, of all people was the object of this amazing man’s love and trust was breathtaking. He tightened his hold and kissed Sherlock’s hair. 

“Have you ever told anyone else about what happened, Sherlock?”

“No, no one.”

“Would you…” John wasn’t sure he should ask...he almost couldn’t, but Sherlock’s revelation had contained a plea for help and he wouldn’t turn away from him… “Would you like me to help you, Sherlock? Is that partly why you confided in me?”

Sherlock was still and silent. John looked down at him anxiously. He was about to say something else when Sherlock asked, “Do you think you can, John? Do you think I can change?”

“Yes, Sherlock, I absolutely believe you can and I’ll help you in any way you ask me to, of course!”

“If we could talk about it. That would help, John.”

“Well, that’s easy. You already know you can say anything to me, talk to me about anything. I’m pretty open about sex and so on…”

He felt Sherlock smile against his shoulder and grinned. He said, “Alright then. Do you want to talk some more now or are you tired and maybe want to get some rest? I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here in the morning too.” He punctuated the last statement with a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, just for added reassurance.

“I’m not tired.”

John said nothing, just gave Sherlock another squeeze to encourage him.

After a short silence Sherlock asked, “How can you be so sure I can change, John? What makes you believe that?” 

“Because you are talking about what happened for the first time in your life Sherlock; you are acknowledging what happened and the damage it did to you. That is a first huge step. And, what’s more, you want to get better, you want to be able to feel sexual and enjoy it−“

Sherlock interrupted. “But only with you, John. No one else.”

John smiled. “Well, I have to admit I’m glad to hear that Sherlock, even though it’s selfish of me…”

“Does that mean you think I’m attractive, John?”

He wasn’t kidding, John realized incredulously. “Ah. Yes. Very attractive Sherlock,” he said cautiously; Sherlock was definitely not ready to hear about just how attractive John thought he was or all the things he had imagined them doing together, at one time or another…

“Is that okay, Sherlock, that I am sexually attracted to you?” he asked.

When he answered, Sherlock sounded surprised at himself, “It is…it makes me feel…good...” He added hastily, “I don’t mean I want to do anything with you, because I don’t. But it makes me feel good to know you are…attracted to me. Even though it makes me uncomfortable as well…”

John could tell Sherlock was becoming confused about his feelings, so he changed the subject. “You asked me why I’m confident that you can change. It’s more than just your desire to change. It’s because of the way you are Sherlock, I mean who you are.”

“Like what?” Sherlock was surprised.

“Well, I don’t think you are really the sex-less, empty shell that you think you are. Sex isn’t just about penises in mouths or anuses, Sherlock, although it’s true that those experiences are pretty spectacular, the light-show of sex, so to speak. There is a whole range of other physical experiences that are thrilling and wonderful as well. You know, other sensual things, like touch and taste and scent and sound, which happen anytime, not just in the bedroom. Those things can all be part sexuality too.”

John hugged Sherlock again and took a chance, “I’ve lived with you for five years now−even though you weren’t here for two of them,” he paused to poke Sherlock in the side in mock punishment, enjoying Sherlock’s wincing response, before he continued, “and I’ve observed you Sherlock, you are a very sensual man.” John hoped like mad that that statement wouldn’t frighten Sherlock…

He added, “I can’t help it, I’m a doctor, I look at bodies, all kinds of bodies, and try to understand what they’re telling me.”

After a long silence Sherlock asked carefully, “And my body tells you something, John?”

John gave an inward sigh of relief at Sherlock’s interested response. He closed his eyes and indulged himself. “Yes. I’ve watched you when you are thinking, Sherlock; you close your eyes and bring your fingertips up to stroke your lips…almost like a kiss…and when you’re agitated, those fingers slide a cigarette between your lips so you can draw in the smoke and taste…and you close your eyes and sigh…and sometimes when you’re very upset you tangle your fingers in your hair and pull until the pain distracts you from your frustration…and when you’re not comforting yourself with your hands and your fingers, you protect them in leather gloves, so smooth they feel like a second skin or shelter them in the warmth of the pockets of your wool overcoat.”

Sherlock was listening intently, so John continued, “Your fingertips are so sensitive that you can measure another’s pulse without pressing their skin, you can pick-pocket anything from anyone in the blink of an eye and you can feel a musical note through the strings of a violin before even you hear it…”

John fell silent.

“Is there more, John?” Sherlock’s question was hushed. 

“Yes. The man I’ve watched, Sherlock, likes the caress of a cashmere scarf against his throat, a kiss from a curl of his own hair, a bit too long on his neck and the protection of a thick, wool coat collar, raised high. He likes the smooth stroke of finished cotton on his chest; a slim cut shirt with no vest between fabric and skin. He likes the softness of worsted wool trousers brushing his thighs and the whisper of silk socks over his feet. He wears French designer shoes made of fine leather, not as a status symbol but because in them he can feel the vibration of the city beneath his feet; he can sense its mood, its intent, its deepest secrets as he walks its pavements.” 

John stopped and looked down, “Am I right, Sherlock?” he whispered.

“Yes, John.”

John continued gently, “The man I love is sometimes overwhelmed by all that he senses; he needs the cool, silent, dimness of his bedroom and to be free from the restriction of any clothing at all. On those days he wears nothing or just a bed sheet, not because he’s too lazy to dress but because cotton percale is the only thing he can bear to have touching his skin.”

John placed a kiss on Sherlock’s head. “Do you know what my observations tell me, Sherlock?”

Again, quietly, “What?”

“My observations tell me that the sensitive little boy, who played in the brook and longed to share his love and his delight in the physical world with another, hasn’t gone anywhere. His abusers didn’t succeed in destroying him, not at all. He just went into hiding when he was hurt; he hid so deep and so well that not even you are aware that he is still here. But he is still inside of you Sherlock; he still feels pleasure in worldly things and he loves. He has never left you.” 

John could feel wetness on his neck and Sherlock's voice, near John’s ear, was hoarse, “If that’s true John, how do I reach him? I don’t know how to go back.”

“You don’t have to go back Sherlock; you just need to make it safe for him to come out now. He’s still afraid. He doesn’t want to feel that much pain or shame ever again, but I believe he will come out when he knows it’s safe.”

John could feel Sherlock start to shake and weep in earnest. He pulled him tightly against him and prayed this all wasn’t too much, too soon…perhaps he’d said too much…pushed Sherlock too hard.

As the minutes went by, finally Sherlock began to subside into stillness and quietness.

When he was still awake several minutes later, John, acting on intuition alone because he was now well past the limits of his rudimentary counselling skills, urged, “Tell him I’d like to meet him, Sherlock. Tell him I already know him and I love him; that I think he’s sweet and innocent and fun. Ask him to come out and play, Sherlock.”

Sherlock was silent. 

John whispered, “Tell him it’s safe. You are an adult now; tell him you’ll protect him and that I’ll protect him too. Tell him you understand his fear and that you understand he had no one to help him when he was a little boy but that now he has both of us and together we’ll make sure no one ever hurts him again…” John was near tears himself. He whispered, “Tell him Nanny is gone and her devil’s workshop of punishments is closed. It’s gone and it will never be again. Tell him I won’t hurt him and that I just want to play pirates and swim in the starlight; tell him Sherlock.” 

Sherlock remained silent. John sensed an inner battle occurring, he could feel the tension in Sherlock’s body.

Finally Sherlock said, “It doesn’t feel…safe. But it’s not because of you…”

“What is it? Tell me,” John coaxed.

“Mycroft…”

“You’re still afraid of him aren’t you? He still watches you, follows you and spies on you, doesn’t he? I can understand that, Sherlock. I would feel the same way.”

John thought for a moment.

“I have an idea.”

Sherlock looked up at him in question.

“Well, a couple of things; first I wonder if you’ve ever thought about why he behaved as he did when you were a child, and continues to do so now. He’s older than you Sherlock, so you might not be aware of what he suffered as a child−I’m not excusing his behaviour, not at all, especially now that he’s an adult. I just wonder if you might be able to cope with him better if you see his controlling behaviour as possibly related to having been abused. I think that he might be less threatening to you if you see him in that light.”

He stopped to let the idea sink in before continuing, “Frankly, Mycroft is not my concern, like I say; he’s a grown man who refuses to take responsibility for the harm he causes. But I do want you to be free of him, out of his control, and understanding the fear that drives his behaviour might help you. My second idea is that for now, would you like me to speak to him? To request on your behalf that he stay away from us for an indefinite period of time? If I approach him, I think he will listen to me, Sherlock.” 

Oh yes, thought John to himself, grimly. Mycroft will definitely listen to what I have to say to him; ‘The British Government Complicit in Horrific Child Sexual Abuse’ makes a riveting headline and is sure to keep tabloid reporters with microphones and cameras standing on the front step of the Diogenes Club for days, if not weeks, not to mention to hacking one’s phones…

“Yes. Thank you John.”

“Okay then.” He gave Sherlock another squeeze. “Now, how about bed? You seem tired. A cup of tea and to sleep?”

Sherlock nodded, “But tonight, John, would you stay with me?” He added uncomfortably, “I mean not to…just to…just for a little while…” He halted.

“Just a cuddle, Sherlock? Of course.” John winked. “But if you start snoring…”

Sherlock was indignant. “I do not snore−” he began, before adding “Oh, you’re teasing me again aren’t you, John?”


	5. Chapter 5

John began to awaken. In the darkness of Sherlock’s bedroom, lying snug against Sherlock’s back, holding him close, John floated in that timeless space between sleeping and waking. Whatever it was that had alerted him wasn’t bad. It was good, so good! His world was perfect…he was happy and excited… Ah. That kind of excited.

It’s alright, he coached himself, no need to panic, just pull the bed sheet down and bunch it up between us... and he won’t know.

John could have left; gone to his own room, for Sherlock was sleeping peacefully, remarkably peacefully actually, but John didn’t want to leave. He was enjoying holding Sherlock, thrilled that Sherlock had lowered his guard at last and let John get close. So John was not about to let a raging erection come between them, now that he had Sherlock in his arms for the first time.

He carefully eased the sheet down between them, trying to move as little as possible so as not to disturb Sherlock. As he withdrew his arm from around Sherlock’s middle to bundle the sheet between them, two things happened; to his surprise he encountered Sherlock’s cock, stiff and thick, laying against his belly and, as John unintentionally brushed it with his forearm, he heard a breathy moan of “John…” come from Sherlock’s lips. And by God if that didn’t do something for John!…although what it did was not very helpful at that moment.

“Shhhh, Shhhh, sleep,” John murmured, not wanting Sherlock to wake and have to deal with what was happening with his body at that moment. He replaced his arm around Sherlock’s waist, a little higher this time, and, with the sheet tucked safely between them, he gently pressed against Sherlock’s back once more. Sherlock settled into sleep again and John was able to think; clearly, Sherlock’s sexual desire was no longer buried deep inside him but rather, just below the surface. While this was good, John’s concern now was that Sherlock’s body not get too far ahead of his mind and that Sherlock not engage in anything he wasn’t yet ready to handle emotionally or mentally. Slow and cautious would be the best way forward.

.......................................................

The next time John awoke, he was alone in Sherlock’s bed and rare London sunshine was streaming through the open curtains of the bedroom. John looked at the window in surprise; he hadn’t realized that Sherlock had a window in his room. Any time John had glimpsed Sherlock’s bedroom previously, it had been dim, if not actually dark. He looked around with interest. It was startlingly neat in contrast to the comfortable shambles in the living room and kitchen of the flat. Sherlock’s collections of bones, seeds and what-not were orderly displayed in the bookcase or framed and mounted on the walls. His silk dressing gowns, John grinned, were hung in order of preference with his best blue striped one first in the row. There were a few photographs too, head-shots of someone…John stared. Sherlock had several pictures of John himself spaced out around the room, one on his desk, two in the bookcase and one hanging on the wall behind the door-where one could see it when the door was closed. The one on the desk dated back to the first month they’d met; it was cut from a press-shot taken the day of the news conference following the shooting of the murderous cabbie; John remembered it as being the first time he’d seen himself appear in a newspaper.

John felt tears gather behind his eyes and his throat tighten as he realized that when Sherlock found the world too overwhelming and disappeared into his room, he didn't go alone, he took John with him and he had since the beginning

'… sometimes I don’t notice when you’re not here, John,' Sherlock had once said. He hadn't added…'it's because I take you with me wherever I go…'

Where was Sherlock? Suddenly, John wanted to see him, to touch him, if Sherlock would let him. He was anxious to tell Sherlock that he loved him too, just as much as Sherlock loved him and for just as long…

He climbed out of bed and, not stopping to put his T shirt on, he went straight to the kitchen. He almost wilted with relief to see Sherlock making tea. He had had an irrational fear that he wouldn't be, that fate would once again tear them apart just as they were on the verge of finding each other, as it had once before...

“Sherlock.”

Sherlock looked up. He said carefully, “John, would you like tea? I’m making toast. It’s almost done.”

Something was wrong. Sherlock was awkward, uncomfortable. Oh God, John thought, I shouldn't have stayed with him last night. What was I thinking! I’m always aroused in the morning, and this morning it was probably worse than usual, having spent the night so close to him. He noticed. Of course he did, he’s a detective for God’s sake!

“Sherlock−”

“Yes?” Sherlock sounded tense.

“If it’s the erection that’s making you uncomfortable, there’s nothing to worry about, really! Morning erections are common. They just happen, it’s a physiological thing, it doesn't mean the person is desperate for sex or anything like that.”

Sherlock looked pained. “It doesn't? But it feels like it, John; the heat and the pressure. I had to get up; I couldn't stay lying next to you, I was so uncomfortable.”

It was John’s turn to look pained. “Sherlock, I’m so sorry, I won’t sleep next to you again. I don't want to make you uncomfortable!”

“I don’t think that will help, John.”

John asked unhappily, “What can I do to fix it then, please tell me and I’ll do it. Would you like me to leave for a little while, give you some space and time to think about things? I don’t want to leave you Sherlock, not for a minute, but if you think it would help, I’ll do it. I’ll do anything to help you, Sherlock. Anything.”

“No! I don’t want you to leave! I want you to stay. I know the expert advice is that a person should touch themselves to learn about their body and its responses, but I don’t want to! I want you to touch me John, so badly!”

John gave himself a mental shake. Clearly he'd been on the wrong track all together with this erection business... He rapidly collected his wits; it seemed that Sherlock had woken up to discover himself aroused and hard and...he was asking John to do something about it.


	6. Chapter 6

John reached out a hand to Sherlock’s and drew him close. Looking up into his eyes, he asked, “Tell me more, Sherlock. What is it you would like? I’d love to touch you, tell me what you need.”

Sherlock voice shook slightly, “I watched you sleeping John. I opened the curtains so that I could see you in the sunlight; see your golden skin and hair. You are so beautiful, John! If you want to…could we go back to bed and lie together? I want to touch your skin, I wanted to earlier but I didn’t want to wake you.” 

John smiled, “I’d love that.” 

So still holding Sherlock’s hand he drew him down the hall and back into his bedroom. Breakfast could wait.

By the time they were beside the bed, Sherlock was starting to look anxious once more, so John, standing before him, stroked up and down his arms to calm him and said, “So many clothes. Can I undress you, Sherlock?”

Sherlock nodded self-consciously, so John said, “We’ll start with your shirt, I’d love to see your chest. I’ll want to kiss you, is that okay?” He undid Sherlock’s buttons and slid the shirt off, laying it carefully aside. He smiled and began to press kisses on Sherlock’s chest and belly, pulling him down onto the bed as he did. It was nothing too sexual, John just wanted to love and soothe him. And if that was all Sherlock wanted, John was more than delighted to give it to him. He was thrilled to be able to touch and show Sherlock how much he loved him; it felt the gift of a lifetime, something he had not expected to be able to do, ever. 

“I’d like to see you John, all of you. Would you take your pyjamas off?”

John did not need a second invitation, he tugged them off and let them drop off the side of the bed as he asked, “Would you like me to take your trousers off too? Do you want to be naked together, Sherlock?”

“Yes.” It was a hushed whisper near John’s ear.

Sherlock helped John unfasten the trousers. God, that fabric really is wonderful thought John absently as he folded them carefully and placed them with the shirt. The silk boxers followed but were not so neatly folded as John, emotionally overcome with admiration and love at the sight of Sherlock naked before him, suddenly pulled Sherlock firmly against him, head to toe, in a full body hug. He groaned in bliss at the sensation. Sherlock was breathing shakily and hugging him back and for John it was as though the gates of heaven itself had opened; never had he dreamed that he’d one day be doing this with Sherlock!

“Will you touch me, John?”

“Oh, God yes, my love!”

Sherlock was hard, perhaps even harder than he’d been in the night, his cock straining against John’s belly. John inserted a hand between them and stoked him lightly to gauge where he was at in his arousal. 

“Oh God, John…” Sherlock’s words trailed off with a deep groan of pleasure and he collapsed onto his back beside John, thrusting himself up into John’s hand. “Please John!” He thrust upward again and closed his eyes with another groan. 

John, taking control, established a relaxed rhythm with his hand and soothed him, “It’s alright, Sherlock don’t rush, we’ve got all day, I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed small kisses to Sherlock’s neck and chest listening to his heart rate and breathing. “You are so beautiful, Sherlock, so beautiful!” 

Despite John’s attempt to slow him down, Sherlock’s body was racing to orgasm; his breath caught as he pushed upward into John’s hand and pre-ejeculate was starting to bead over the tight skin on the head of his cock. “John, please!” he begged. He opened his eyes, hazy and dazed with pleasure to watch John’s hand stroking him−and froze; his expression turned to horror and he wrenched himself away from John with a cry. He curled into a ball on the edge of the bed and silently began to rock himself. 

John, who had been on high alert for any sign of trouble, was not caught off-guard. He quickly covered Sherlock with the bed sheet and leaned over him protectively.

“What’s happening, love? Can you tell me?” he whispered to Sherlock.

Sherlock was shaking in distress, “It’s the semen John, I can’t stand to see it or feel it!” He choked, “She used to check my bed for it, and the handkerchiefs and towels, she checked my clothes and hands, everything. In the morning, she’d have Mycroft look at my sheets… Oh God, John! I was afraid every night. I wouldn’t let myself fall asleep. I’d make myself stay awake so nothing would happen. It usually worked but once when I fell asleep I woke up in the morning and I could feel wetness and I saw it. Oh God…,” he hugged his knees to himself and closed his eyes.

“Oh, my poor, sweet love. Here, come here.” John crooned, putting his arms around him, “It’s okay, I understand. I would have been terrified too, Sherlock. Is that why you have such a hard time sleeping even now?”

Sherlock nodded his head, “I couldn’t ever get out to the habit of staying awake, John. Sleeping has never felt safe, I always wake up afraid. But it was nice this morning, I must have known, even in my sleep that you were there with me because I was happy when I woke up. I didn’t know what to do about the erection, but it felt so good to have you beside me; so safe!”

John felt tears welling up. “You’re right, Sherlock, you are very safe with me beside you.” He lowered his head to kiss him, just a quick press of lips. 

“I’m sorry John, I wanted to, but I can’t do it, I just can’t!”

“Hey…you don’t have to do anything, remember? You don’t have to apologize to me, I love you Sherlock, being at your side is more than enough. I meant that when I said it! I’m very happy with you Sherlock! In fact, I feel like the luckiest man in the world! You are amazing!”

His words seemed to help. Sherlock’s breathing began to slow and tension began to leave his body. John held him close, stroking his back and encouraging him to settle. 

After Sherlock had relaxed and was resting easily, John said casually, “You know, Sherlock, if you ever do want to try again, there’s an easy work-around. I mean, lots of people like to have sex in the shower. I think you’d like it too. Imagine how great it would be to have the water running over your body while I touched you…and you wouldn’t see or feel any semen, mine or yours, right? It would be private too; we’d be surrounded by water and steam where no one else could possibly see us.” He paused before he added offhandedly, “It’s something to think about anyway.”

Waiting another moment, he said, low and husky in Sherlock’s ear, “Or maybe one day you’d like me to give you a blow job. I’d like it if you came in my mouth, Sherlock…God, I would love that! I’d swallow your semen and use my tongue to make sure you were completely clean after. All you’d see and feel would be my mouth around your cock; just me loving you and giving you pleasure.” 

And…thought John to himself, I don’t think I need to add anything more to that picture…Let’s just let the image percolate with my love for now. John smiled and dropped a light kiss onto the top of Sherlock’s head.


	7. Chapter 7

They had reached a peaceful place in their relationship. John resumed sleeping in his own room but he read or cuddled with Sherlock before bed, which they both enjoyed, and it was understood that John’s door was always open at night, should Sherlock want to come to him for comfort. There were random kisses exchanged, perhaps on a cheek or the neck, or any patch of skin that invited. Occasionally a hand was sought and held, even in public, when the need for reassurance was felt. And John was happy; happier than he had ever been in his life. 

Then, one early morning, the sky still dark, John, settled comfortably at the breakfast table with a cup of tea, still in his T-shirt and pyjamas and tapping on the keyboard of his laptop, looked up to see Sherlock standing before him.

“John.” 

John opened his mouth to greet him but closed it again and stared. Sherlock’s blue, striped silk dressing gown was untied; he was bare-chested with his pyjamas riding low on his hips. In his hands he held two neatly folded, plush white towels and what appeared to be thick cotton robe… it looked like the kind you only find in high-end hotels, thought John distractedly. Perched on top of this stack were bottles of shampoo or perhaps shower gel and lotion…John could see the labels and recognized them as Sherlock’s preferred, and very expensive, brand which was something Italian...

“Will you shower with me, John?” 

“I…Yes. Yes…” John rose slowly. He was having difficulty processing what he was seeing. He stopped. “You mean now, Sherlock?”

Sherlock smiled. He held out a hand and nodded.

A dazed John allowed himself to be led down the hall to the bathroom. It was dark as Sherlock drew John in but rather than switch on the light, Sherlock reached to light two candles sitting on the edge of the basin. Then, the firm planes of his chest bathed in the glow of the light, Sherlock set the towels and bottles down and leaned forward to turn the shower on.

The room begin to fill with steam immediately and, Sherlock, his outline already misted around the edges in the candlelight, stepped close, very close to John and looked down into his eyes. 

“May I take you clothes off?” Sherlock’s voice was gravel, low and husky, and John felt the vibration of it all the way down to his toes. He nodded abruptly, unable to find his voice, and began to help Sherlock pull his T-shirt over his head. 

Once he had John undressed, Sherlock removed his own robe and pyjamas and lowered his head to kiss John, slowly and lovingly. The kiss seemed to wake John up and he began to kiss Sherlock back eagerly. Sherlock smiled as he lifted his mouth from John’s, picked up one of the bottles from where he had set it, and drew John into the shower. 

“This…this isn’t your usual shower gel…” John drew a breath… 

“No. It’s for you John, if you like it…. It made me think of you…if you don’t like it, I’ll get a different one.”

“No! It smells fantastic, Sherlock…what is that? It’s wonderful!”

“Mmmmm…” Sherlock’s voice rumbled against John’s ear and his arms slid around John from behind to pull him close. “Cederwood…” he said, and kissed John’s neck. “Oakwood…” he kissed John’s cheek. “Coffee bean…and…” Sherlock placed a kiss on John’s throat and tipped John’s head back against his shoulder. He turned John’s chin toward him with gentle fingers. Then, just before he settled his lips on John’s, he murmured, “Tobacco flower.”

John sagged with a groan. Sherlock must have expected something of the sort to happen for he leaned into John and held him firmly. Supporting him fully and still kissing him, he slid a long arm down John’s belly to his, by now, very erect cock. At his touch, John groaned again and stiffened, involuntarily pulling his mouth from Sherlock’s with a gasp. “God Sherlock!”

He felt himself being pulled back gently and heard Sherlock voice, husky and deep, behind him. “Show me, John.” He breathed in John’s ear, “Show me how to please you.” He drew John’s hand down to cover his own where it was caressing John’s cock.

John shuddered. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. He abandoned himself to the glory of it; the man he loved holding him, stroking him, the warm steam, the wonderful scent and the soothing glow of candlelight. He lifted his chin for another kiss, which was immediately given, and began to move Sherlock’s hand under his own. It was only a minute or two later and he was jerking forward and with a loud groan and spilling into their clasped hands. 

John couldn’t have stopped even if he’d wanted to but he wondered if this would be too much for Sherlock, if Sherlock was pushing himself too far. But when John opened his eyes to seek Sherlock’s, he saw only wonder and love in them; no fear, no anxiety, and he could have cried with relief.

They rested against each other for a long moment, savouring the loving intimacy of this first experience as a couple. Then John stirred. He could feel Sherlock against his lower back, hard and throbbing so he turned in Sherlock’s arms and raised his face. “Your turn?” he questioned, his hands caressing Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nodded, longing for John but not wanting to ask. John smiled and propelled him gently backward to lean against the shower wall and sank to his knees in front of him. As he opened his mouth and took Sherlock in deeply, he heard the choked groan from above, even over the noise of the water. He grinned inwardly and holding Sherlock’s hips firmly, he concentrated on pleasuring him with his lips and tongue. In almost no time he felt Sherlock’s desperate hand on his head trying to tell him he was close. But John stayed where he was, reveling in the intense pleasure that Sherlock was so obviously experiencing. He allowed Sherlock to thrust his hips forward as he began to come and took pleasure in swallowing his ejaculate as it flooded his mouth. Then as he felt Sherlock relax and soften, he ran a light hand over him to cleanse and rinse, ensuring no trace of fluid remained on him.

“John!” 

John rose from his knees with a wide smile and found himself suddenly wrapped in a fierce hug. He was almost lifted off his feet as Sherlock held him tight and exclaimed, “I love you, John!” against his neck. 

John smiled even wider. Once he’d been set down again, he reached up to stroke Sherlock’s wet curls from his forehead and replied, “I love you too, Sherlock!”

They turned the water off and stepped out of the shower. Sherlock reached for the towels he’d brought and dried John. He then placed the luxurious new robe around his shoulders and said shyly, “For you, John.”

“You sweetheart,” breathed John and kissed him again. He dried and wrapped Sherlock in the other towel, blew out the candles and pulled him into his bedroom. There he urged Sherlock into bed, naked, and joined him after laying his new robe carefully over the back of a chair. He cuddled Sherlock close and suggested, “A little lie-in then?” 

Sherlock hummed in agreement and settled his head on his pillow. There was peaceful silence for a long moment before John broke it by murmuring, “I have another idea Sherlock…”

He felt rather than heard Sherlock’s chuckle rumble deep in his chest.

“Well, there’s another way to make sure you aren’t bothered by seeing any semen…”

“Yes, John?”

“Yes…I’d love to feel you inside me, Sherlock. And I’d love it if you came in me. You know…” He lowered his voice to a dark whisper, “if you thrust into me and came deep inside…”

He was rewarded with a quick indrawn breath and shudder from Sherlock, in his arms. John grinned to himself and said lightly, “Anyway, it’s just something to think about….”

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and a special thank you for letting me know what you thought of the story. And thank you anonymous prompter for such a touching and sweet concept. There is never too much love!


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